Eulogy
by Bellatrix-Everdeen
Summary: **SPOILERS ARE RAMPANT** After Marco's tragic death, Jean reminisces about his lost friend...who may have been something more. Jean/Marco.


He wasn't perfect.

Nothing ever really is. We humans like to fool ourselves, to believe that if we try hard enough everything we do can become divine perfection. I think the Titans came along to remind us that, no matter how hard we try, something will always come along to make perfection impossible. A perfect world, complete with three walls? Ha! They tore that down. And even if we destroy them all, then something bigger will come along to keep humans from getting too cocky. I, Jean Kirschtein, knew this, but I tried to hide from it. I tried to give myself a perfect life. I tried to protect my imperfect, defective self, leaving those closer to divinity to die.

But then he came along.

Marco was quieter, a little more soft-spoken. He wasn't strong and he wasn't outgoing. He wasn't stupid, either. He knew who he was, and he knew who I was better than anyone else, including myself. I'd thought myself to be impeccably strong and worthy of protecting myself by joining the Military Police. But, as I said, Marco wasn't stupid. He told me just how weak I was, but tactfully and in a way that made me realize that weakness was strength. We grew close, him and I. Sure, we had other friends, but we were the only ones that we trusted. He saw me as a close friend, and he'd saved my ass on more than one occasion. And, after knowing him for a while, I began to want nothing more than to be close to Marco.

Yeah, people did get a little suspicious of us. I remember Connie asked us about our relationship once. My face went blood-red and my heart began to pound like the sound of a Titan's feet as it runs. But Marco just smiled a tiny bit and said, "No, we're just friends." I just nodded and tried to act like someone who wasn't trembling slightly and whose palms weren't sweating.

It's a strange, awful feeling to realize that you're in love with your best friend. You don't want to tell them for fear of ruining your friendship, but at the same time you try to suppress your feelings while unconsciously making them very apparent. Also, due to the very low human population, relationships that could not produce children are...frowned upon, to say the least. I knew I couldn't tell anyone. Especially not Marco.

But then, I knew a lot of things that turned out to be untrue, didn't I?

We were alone in the warehouse where the gear was kept. It was nighttime. No Titans about. No one to watch us. And we were silent. Marco was organizing military-issued crates. I had volunteered to help him. We moved crates in near-complete silence until Marco suggested that we take a break.

We sat on some of the stacked crates and stared out the single window, watching the stars glimmer and twinkle as though they were capable of happiness. I gasped quietly. I'd forgotten that anything could ever be so beautiful. And I remember, nearly word-for-word, what happened next.

"I wish it were like this forever."

I turned, wide-eyed, to Marco. He continued to look out the window, a shy smile on his face. "No Titans. No worrying about if you or your friends will be the next to die." He turned to me, his eyes soft. "No worrying about you."

I gazed at him, dumbfounded, amazed. His cheeks went slightly pink in the moonlight, and he looked down shyly. With a rush of sudden courage, I felt myself place a hand on his knee. He widened his eyes and looked up at me, quiet, timid. And I spoke from the heart, something I had never done before and will likely never have a reason to do again.

"You don't need to worry about me." My hand moved from his knee and found his hand, which I gently clutched, him reciprocating. "As long as you're okay…that's all I'll ever need, Marco."

Suddenly on my cheek I felt his hand, warm and calloused from months of swinging swords and building equipment. I felt my hands move to grasp him around the back, and his hands clasped behind my neck. The light of the moon glowed softly unto us. And then I whispered, "Marco, I…" And he said, "Me, too."

And then we were kissing, and it was perfect, the only thing in my life or Marco's life or anyone's life that could ever be truly perfect.

Marco, I love you. Most people would be saying that in past tense, now that you're no longer here. But I know I'll never stop. You and I, we're the only ones that ever knew of this. It's our own little secret, one that others may have suspected but never knew. If you're watching me from wherever you are now, a place with no Titans, a place where there is no war or pain or hate, a place where death is your only life, then I want you to know that nobody will ever read this except for you and I. I'll burn this paper, if you want me to. Just know that I love you. And I know…I know that you love me, too.

-Jean Kirschtein

A eulogy.

My hand gently sweeps across the paper. My transparent, nonexistent hand. I'm dead. I, Marco Bodt, am dead. I died by the hands of a Titan, half-eaten, half-burned. And with no one there to see me.

But I don't care.

The only thing I have left to care about is Jean. He told me not to worry about him, but it's hard when I love him so much. I know that if he dies we'll be together again, and being with him is what I want more than anything in the world. But, in my heart, I know that Jean would hate the world of the dead. He constantly feels the need to prove himself, and if he died now and came to our peaceful world, he'd wreak havoc. But I know he'll die when he's ready, and that will be a while. I don't care.

I look at him. He puts down his pen, and I see the tears spilling from his eyes. I feel a wrenching stab of guilt. It's not like I wanted to die, but I still feel awful for doing so. Jean said that, as long as I was okay, he would be. And, to most people, "dead" and "okay" are not synonymous.

My ghostly eyes fall on the last paragraph of the eulogy. I read it. I read the last sentence, the one that assures me that he knows I still love him and I always will, and I place my arms around him. While I know he can't see or feel me, Jean smiles a tiny, teary smile, as though he can sense my presence. I lean over and kiss his cheek.

"I do, Jean," I whisper. "I do."


End file.
